Violet was so totally up to her knee caps in toddlers the second Sunday of December that she could identify each one by the hair parting and by which ones ran away when their names were screamed from the banquet room. The Grand was hosting a post-bris reception, the kind of do that children cannot cope with, and because Mr. Ed Edmunds, The Grand's manager, could not cope with children he was off in the smoking room chomping on a cigar while Violet was left to conduct business wading in the kiddie pool. It was some relief to see new grown-ups approaching her. Mirabelle Baker and her fiancé, Jerry Nolan, an old acquaintance of Violet's, entered the foyer with ne'er before seen in-laws, presumably to give them the Grand tour. Mirabelle looked psychotically smiley. Violet guessed correctly the in-laws were hers and not Jerry's.
"Hi Violet," she managed to say before Mrs. Nolan, primed for disapproval, shouted, "Is it always this noisy?"
"Must be a christening, Ma," Jerry said. He hugged Mirabelle around the shoulders to keep her steady.
"It's a bris, well, the after party anyway." Mrs. Nolan grimaced and overtly placed her hand over her heart. "Here," Violet offered, "I'll take your coats." She hung them up in the receiving room and called for one of the serving girls to keep an eye on the small escapees. Violet again turned to the bride and groom. "So, you two, only two weeks left? I bet it felt like the fastest year ever."
"Not for me," Mirabelle stressed with a look only for Violet.
"But now this is the point where you've planned and done all you can so you shouldn't worry about a thing. It's all downhill from here."
"Well when you wait until the last minute I suppose you take what you can get," Mrs. Nolan sniffed.
"Shotgun ready, Mr. Nolan?" Violet sang out, waking the man up.
"Oh," he clucked, "it isn't like that, Miss, er...?"
"Violet March, one of the co-ordinators here. Whatever it is like, I can assure you the place will be entirely respectable two Saturdays from now."
"That's right! She hasn't met the rest of the family," Jerry said. He had a big square jovial face, a perfect champion for quiet Mirabelle.
"No, I haven't. Will they be needing utensils?"
"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Nolan said.
"Not at all," said Violet pleasantly. "Moving right along." Mirabelle followed with a grateful smirk.
They peeked into the banquet room, not wanting to disturb the party. Then Violet gave them the historical tour of the restored 1930s artwork on the walls and the era's influence in details on the doors and windows. She brought the couples out onto the wide terrace, then into the receiving room, then the smoking room where they were greeted by Ed behind a yellow smoky plume.
"Just like an old English library," he said, cocksure that this was the best way to sell the feature.
"It's very warm," Violet agreed. "It balances the polished elegance of the main hall. And it has a wholly different ventilation system so it's ideal for when it's too cold on the terrace." Mrs. Nolan summoned a whimpering cough.
They climbed the lavish staircase to find the bride's dressing room. Even though Mirabelle's ceremony would be at a separate church, the room would be at her disposal if she wanted to take a break from underwire and new shoes without spectators. Father and son wandered off into a corner to discuss something while mother dearest inspected the facilities. Mirabelle placed a hand on Violet's arm and thanked her again for no one thing in particular.
"Jerry and I were talking about it and we would really love to have you at the dinner. I hope Cyril being there won't be a reason not to come."
"I hope it won't be for you, either."
Mirabelle sighed. "I'm in love. What can I say? I have to take all the baggage that comes with Jerry."
"He is a sweetheart. If I'm not too busy I'd love to be there. If you're sure."
"Oh for sure, sure. Isn't that right, Jerry?"
"What is, Babe?"
"Violet should definitely come to the wedding reception."
"A Cy and Vi reunion? Why not? It's an open bar."
"Thanks a lot, Jerr," Violet said.
"Just teasing. Make sure you bring a date."
"Dear, I know we're not paying for this party, but things do add up," Mrs. Nolan said ungraciously upon her return.
"Oh, just save me a seat by the speakers and I'll brown bag it," Violet said. She ushered the group towards the door.
Ed was waiting for Violet at the bottom of the staircase with a very shiny forehead and an anxious twitch. He passed off a quick acknowledging smile to the family and pulled Violet aside.
"How many waiters we got in there?" he whispered. "Those kids are wild. They're feeling up the statues."
"The waiters are busy enough, Ed. The children are just playing."
"You wanna know where I found these capers?"
"Well, who likes capers?" Violet shrugged. Ed nodded in agreement while he twisted the caper berry back into the nostril of an angel posing on a column. "I'll speak to the MC."
"Would you?" Next Ed lifted and aimed his voice at Violet's guests in the foyer. "I hope you all enjoyed the tour. Think you'll book with us anytime soon?"
"We'll have to think about it," Jerry said.
Violet waved goodbye to them from the banquet room.
"You're going," Olivia said.
"Why should I?"
"If only to stick it to both of them, especially when I hear his woman looks like the inside of a grilled eggplant."
"That's awful. Where'd you hear that?"
"From you."
"I just said she was overly tanned."
"Tanned like scrap hide!"
"Olivia," Violet tsked. "Who would I go with? There's no use in showing up if I show up alone."
"Isn't there anyone you could ask?"
"No. No, I think I'll skip it," she sighed. "I don't think I could stand it, even if she does look like a dead sea sponge."
"You're going."
"We'll see."
Violet knew as she hung up the phone that she'd have to attend the reception. For one thing, it was good for business. For another, if she didn't go certain guests might assume why. Cyril would be smug and worse, Violet might be pitied. When your ex-boyfriend of nearly three years marries someone else six months after the split, it's just cause for speculation at any rate.
That was four years earlier. Violet met Cyril when he and Jerry worked as campus security guards where Violet was taking extra courses in public relations. They started dating at the beginning of what could be called Cyril's Romantic period. This, unbeknownst to her at the time, was the age which followed his Political Reformist period, an evolution from his moulting devotion to all things Punk, and would be directly followed by his personal Entrepreneurial Economic Boom, which happened to coincide with the peak of his moral ambiguity. There was a lesson in Cyril somewhere, more validating than one man's island being another woman's sand bar, but for all the hindsight, they had loved one another, and for two years, nine months and one day they had tried to make each other very happy.
Cyril was good looking to be sure, but it was his passion that had won her heart. He had a burning desire to understand human relationships from the perspective of learned men before him and the self awareness that he could never quite articulate his findings to Violet in a way that would do them justice so he never lectured. Such was his respect for the Masters. None of this glassy-eyed, why are we here? watered down lounge philosophy that would have crawled up Violet's spine and flapped at her earlobes until she could scream into a pillow. Sometimes he would quote Shakespeare. Shakespeare they were both comfortable with and it made for some cherished random love notes. The Stratford Festival was his World Series – and then he started going to the gym.
The beginning of the end came when Cyril decided to become a bodyguard. There was nothing for Violet to be suspicious of at the height of his willingness towards self-sacrifice, but there was also, he began stressing, good money to be made, or so his personal trainer, Celine, encouraged him. He was getting tired of living paycheque to paycheque, and with Violet working on commission those were days of feast or famine. The novelty had worn off. There was a time when Violet didn't have to spread jam on her own toast. Now instead of bringing her breakfast in bed, he went for a morning jog.
Cyril started working at the gym. Why risk his life as a bodyguard when he could make just as much money as a personal trainer to the wealthy, Celine had suggested. She would know; her family owned the gym chain. She was full of helpful suggestions. It was her idea that Cyril should put in more hours at the gym to build up his name, and her opinion that Violet be more supportive. She also suggested that toast and jam were empty calories and that protein shakes were the way to go.
One night, at a party meeting all the sorts of people that might make Cyril's dreams come true, with Violet smiling softly by his side, he attempted to humiliate her in front of an audience which included well-toned, tangerine tanned Celine, for having no knowledge of or regard for gym-culture. Violet's stunned reaction was to inform said audience that she and Cyril were breaking up so what did it matter? He didn't fight her on it, and in those days he was always looking for a fight.
Attending the reception might be good for business, and maybe a little salve for the ego, and nice for Leo Finch who, as it turned out, was more than delighted to escort Violet and see the old theatre one more time.
"I'll tell you what's missing," Leo said. They were having a look around The Grand, intentionally missing speeches and dinner. They had mutually agreed on drinks and dessert. "Smoke."
"There's a smoking room," Violet explained.
"Used to be you could watch a movie and smoke your head off until the person beside you passed out. Then the shooting would start and bring them to."
"Violet!" Mr. Edmunds descended on them from out of nowhere. "Where do we keep the duct tape? Oh, excuse me, hi. Is this your grandfather?"
"Mr. Finch is my date, Ed," she said proudly. "Why do you need duct tape?"
Ed muttered to Violet under his breath, "Giving up so soon?" Then he assaulted Leo with hearty parting back slap. "Forget about it. You're off duty. Take it easy at the bar, you two."
"Prohibition's over?!" Leo gasped.
"Don't tell everybody," Violet shushed him.
"Somebody's told her," he said, pointing out a pair of mismatched guests. The woman was a looker, her date, not so much. "There's no way she'd go out with that sober."
"Leo!"
"Was that rude? I'm old. I forget."
"Well remember fast. Here comes the mother of the groom." Violet held her breath.
"Ms. March," Mrs. Nolan called, swishing over in a fussy blue gown Violet was about to compliment. "Everything is sooo lovely. Considering what I was expecting I couldn't be happier."
"I'm sure trying would be futile," Violet beamed. "Mrs. Nolan, I'd like you to meet my date, Mr. Leo Finch. He's in nuts."
"How dew yew dew," Leo said.
"I'm a very proud mother tonight, thank you, but a little intrigued now that you ask. What exactly is your relationship?"
"No cause for discretion," Leo chuckled good-naturedly. "Violet models for me at my private studio."
"Hand modelling," Violet jumped in, pinching Leo's arm.
"You have very distinguished knuckles, Mrs. Nolan. Perhaps we could discuss you sitting for me sometime. Over a drink?
"Um, perhaps later," she said nervously, and thought better of a handshake. She excused herself quickly to mingle with a ficus.
"You are a rotten tease," said Violet.
"Lovely woman. Terrific whinny."
"And poor Mirabelle will have to listen to it 'til death do them part."
Inside, Jerry and Mirabelle Nolan looked happy and exhausted and elsewhere. When the bride spotted Violet, she made the gesture of wiping her brow with her hand.
"We did it," she said.
"You look gorgeous," Violet said. "Congrats, Jerry."
"I'm not really listening to anything anymore, Vi. Just smiling." Jerry shook three new hands with his eyes closed.
"A wonderful future to you both anyhow," Leo wished them.
The couple was soon whisked away so Violet and Leo found themselves some sweet sparkling wine to go with fluffy slices of wedding cake, a delicious almond vanilla confection with lemon icing and white chocolate details. Violet had recommended the bakery, and because she knew intimately the other details of decoration, including the room's pink and amber coloured theme, she was able to select a harmonious kimono-like blouse of champagne and rose to wear with black dress pants. Leo said she was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. Why wasn't she wearing a skirt?
When the thumping dance music gave way to a string of slow songs, Leo asked Violet to dance. Being a good deal shorter than she, he promised to lead if she was willing to navigate. It was during Fly Me To The Moon that Cyril finally appeared to ask to cut in. He appeared to ask, but in fact merely stared at Leo until he was noticed. Cyril looked thinner, well and as handsome as ever, but no longer in a way which stirred any butterflies. Leo handed Violet over in a gentleman's fashion, unaware at the moment to whom.
"I didn't think you'd come," Cyril said with a boyish eagerness Violet hadn't expected.
"The bride asked me. How could I say no?"
"You look wonderful. How are you?"
"Great, thank you. I am wonderful."
"Aren't you going to ask me how I am?"
"Not with this fish hook in my mouth."
"I'm not fishing," he laughed uncomfortably. "It's small talk, but at least it's talk."
"Okay, then, how's the world treating you, or should I ask, how are you treating the world?"
"We're like this," he said, showing her crossed fingers.
"Careful. You could get a cramp."
"Are you seeing anybody?"
"And how is married life with Celine?"
"It's work," he admitted, eyes darting. "But I made a promise, didn't I?"
"I wasn't there," she said archly.
"You were, more than you know."
"You ham!" She threw her head back and laughed as though she was in someone else's arms. Cyril took the accusation cheerfully. She said, "And what ever happened to those dreams of Little Hollywood? Whipping the rich and wannabe famous into shape? I ask because there was that one article in the paper and then nothing."
"You saw that?"
"I made a coffee ring on it."
He twisted his mouth into a little knot. She'd forgotten that expression. He seemed to seize her warming reaction as opportunity. "Strange, hmm? I mean, that was always our dream."
"Oh that's the worst kind of lie," she hummed. "I never wanted fame. You did."
"And you can't have everything," he said, pulling her closer and sighing in her ear.
"What's this about, Cyril?"
"I really do miss you sometimes. That's the truth. I wish...things had gone differently."
Violet ended the dance before he got too brave. "That's nice," she said in a sociably disinterested way and walked off the dance floor.
Cyril stood alone thinking things over. By the time he decided to take his chances by following her to her table, Violet had filled Leo in and the two were getting up to leave.
"Violet," Cyril pleaded quickly in a tone that surprised her because it mimicked desperation. She felt a rush of anger and sympathy. A clean escape was the best thing for both.
"Cyril, it was nice to see you again."
"You're leaving already?"
"Yes. Take care of yourself. Say goodnight to your wife for me. On second thought, just light a match on her."
Cyril's face read that he was less wounded than inspired by the comment. He reached for Violet but his hand was intercepted by Leo's in a firm handshake that left him looking bewildered.
Violet made introductions. "Cyril this is Leo Finch. Leo, Cyril's an old boyfriend."
Leo snorted a little laugh. Cyril took offense.
"Who are you?"
"I'm her guardian and I'm loaded. When I bite the dust she'll be rolling in it and you'll be kicking yourself in the ass. 'Night."